Let Go
by Hollow Nightmare
Summary: James and Lily haven't spoken in over a year. So when James nearly dies after a life-threatening attack, why is Lily Evans the face he wakes up to? LJ
1. Chapter 1

**Let Go**

**by Hollow Nightmare**

**Summary: James and Lily haven't spoken in over year. So when James nearly dies after a life-threatening attack, why is Lily Evans the face he wakes up to?**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to J.K. Rowling.**

**Author's Note: My new story, which has been in the works for a while now before I finally started writing it out. It won't be too long, maybe about six chapters. Also, there is nothing to say that this couldn't be canon; I made sure that nothing goes directly against what JK Rowling has written/said. Of course, it's incredibly unlikely that this is what JK Rowling imagined happened, but I wanted to come up with a more interesting, original way of James and Lily finally getting together. Please leave a review!**

**Chapter One: Heaven and Hell**

... the hell?

James blearily blinked his eyes open and focused on... something. A white blob. Actually, now that he thought about it, everything around him was white. Just... all white.

Oh, God.

He was dead, wasn't he? This was Heaven, and he was dead.

How had he died? Maybe he had fallen off his broomstick and cracked his head on the ground. It certainly felt like it; the back of his head was pounding and there was an uncomfortable pressure that made him wonder if his head was going to explode. He wondered if heads could actually explode in Heaven.

But that couldn't be right, because the pounding in his skull was the least of his worries. What was rather alarming was the increasingly frequent waves of pain across his chest, like trails of fire whipping from his collarbone to the base of his ribs. Did they actually have fire in Heaven, or was that only Hell?

Merlin, this couldn't be right. These were really... really incredibly painful. These were -

Oh! Bloody hell, _fuck_, that hurt -

James flinched his head to the side as another wave of pain slammed across his chest. He breathed in sharply and tensed his whole body until it passed. Then he opened his eyes and nearly recoiled in shock.

There was something next to him. A red blob. On top of a... black blob.

Well.

Oh! If this was Heaven, then that must be an angel!

He gasped as another wave of pain hit him, his breath getting caught in his throat. Maybe the angel could help him. Maybe it could make the torture stop. Maybe it could stop the pain. He just needed to get its attention...

"Hello?" he said. "Can you help me? Please... please make it stop..."

Or, rather, what he tried to say. What actually came out was more like, "Hnnghhh..."

There was a sharp intake of breath next to him, and then something cool and hard was being pressed against his face - his glasses, he dimly realized - and everything came into focus. This was... the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts? Yes, that was it. The same white ceiling, white walls, white floor. White, stiff and uncomfortable beds, pillows, and comforters. White chairs and white closets and white windowsills.

But... what was he doing here? Wasn't he supposed to be dead?

There was a strangled sound from the angel next to him, and James turned to look at it.

Woah. Most definitely _not_ an angel.

It was Lily Evans. And she looked... _hideous._ Her skin was frighteningly pale; every single one of her freckles contrasted sharply with it. Her eyes were rimmed with red and sunken in, on top of heavy, dark bags. Her lips were colorless, and her hair was lank and lifeless, tied back limply.

So... he wasn't in Heaven, and that wasn't an angel next to him.

He wasn't dead.

Ah. Well. He always had been rather over-dramatic.

Another wave of pain coursed over him. James sucked in air through his gritted teeth and clenched his hands in the bed sheets. His whole body automatically tensed until the pain passed, then James relaxed against the pillow and let out a shaky breath. Fuck, these were bloody horrible.

"James?" Lily asked in a small voice.

James turned his head slightly to look at her. She was sitting on one of the standard Hospital Wing chairs (just stiff and uncomfortable enough to discourage visitors). She was hunched forward, looking at him with very worried eyes, and James was again struck by how simply _awful_ she looked.

He cleared his throat, remembering what happened last time he tried to speak, then opened his mouth.

"Are you okay?" he said. His voice was quiet and very hoarse.

Lily's mouth opened a little and she silently stared at him for a few long seconds. She looked as if she couldn't quite believe what he had just said, and James felt very self-conscious. Had he said something wrong? Had he said something stupid again?

"Am _I_ okay?" she repeated incredulously.

James watched as both of her eyebrows rose slightly. He wanted to ask her why she looked horrible, why she hadn't been taking care of herself, but he didn't get the chance. Another wave of pain hit him. He shut his eyes tightly against it and held his breath until it passed. When he opened his eyes Lily was standing up by his bed and staring at him.

"James," she said, and again her voice was so _small_, so scared, "you're shaking."

James looked down at himself and found that, indeed, he was. His whole body had decided, against his will, to start trembling madly - until the pain returned and every single muscle in his body clenched. Lily's lips were clamped together tightly, and James would have wondered what he had done to make her unhappy (already - and they had only been in the same room for a few moments) if he hadn't already been so preoccupied with the pain. Thank God (well, not really, as this wasn't Heaven), Madam Pomfrey entered and saw he was awake.

Madam Pomfrey was a new, young, no-nonsense, incredibly stubborn witch with terrible social skills, so when Lily addressed her as Poppy, James was more than a little surprised. When had they gotten to a first-name basis? And how was that fair since (until now) Lily had only ever called him Potter (and various other insults) and they had known each other for over six years?

"It's really hurting him, Poppy," said Lily; James would have described her as fretful if he hadn't known better.

"What type of pain is it?" said Madam Pomfrey sharply.

"Er, not constant," replied Lily, since James did not look like he would be talking any time soon. "I think it comes in bursts, or something along those lines."

"Sharp or dull?" she asked, and Lily opened her mouth a little then turned to James.

"Sharp," he managed to croak out.

He watched through a pain-filled haze as Madam Pomfrey tutted and clinked some potion bottles in the corner of the room. Lily hovered nervously by his bed, wringing her hands together. The nurse walked over to James with two glass vials in her hands and shoved one of them at him.

"Drink this," she said brusquely.

James recoiled as one of the vials was thrust into his face. He reached up a hand to take it, and was struggling to sit up when another shockwave of pain hit him and he dropped the vial. He winced as it smashed on the floor, shattering loudly into tiny fragments of broken, glittering glass. Of course the one time Lily willingly spent time in his company he would have to go and embarrass himself.

Madam Pomfrey sighed but tried handing him the other vial, this one filled with a translucent, purple liquid.

"Here, take this one while I clear this up. It should help with your head."

"I'll do it," said Lily suddenly.

James dimly realized his mouth was hanging open, and he promptly closed it. He had already made enough of a fool out of himself.

Lily took the vial and hesitantly stepped towards James, as if afraid he would lunge at her and attack. James hurriedly scrambled into a seating position, wincing as his muscles ached, and nervously watched her as she approached. If possible, she looked even more nervous than him; her lips were in a thin, wobbly line and her eyes were very wide.

Why was she doing this?

"Here," she said, very quietly, "tilt your head back a little."

And then her fingers were on his jaw, applying slight, warm pressure to tilt his head back, and James nearly recoiled from shock. He couldn't help remembering the last time Lily had willingly touched him, and wished he could block the memory from his mind. Her fingers were soft and warm, her touch incredibly light, as if she was afraid to break him. James looked at her face, but she was studiously avoiding his gaze, her eyes concentrated on the purple, viscous liquid. Then James suddenly tensed and trembled violently, and when the pain passed Lily was finally looking directly at him, a thin line between her furrowed eyebrows.

"Sorry," he whispered (since he found he couldn't talk louder even if he had tried), apologizing for stalling her.

Lily made a strangled sound in her throat, but otherwise said nothing, and James wondered if he had said the wrong thing _again_. He always tended to do that around her.

Then her fingers were gone from his jaw, and James was disappointed until they reappeared at the back of his head, supporting it and holding it and cradling it. If this had been a dream, Lily would have slid her fingers through is hair, realized how soft and silky it was, and fallen in love with him, James thought.

This wasn't a dream, and in reality Lily did not love him. So she simply let her fingers rest on top of his hair, not in it, and brought the vial to his lips, which James automatically opened. The glass felt cool against his skin, contrasting with her warm, shaking fingers. Wait - shaking? Why on Earth was Lily shaking?

She started slowly pouring the liquid into his mouth, and James gagged and spluttered it everywhere - including on her. Lily's mouth dropped open in surprise and James would have flushed bright red if he hadn't already been unnaturally pale.

God, that stuff was utterly _disgusting._

"Sorry," he croaked out, insanely glad his friends weren't here; they would have cracked up laughing, and he was embarrassed enough as it was.

"It's fine," said Lily automatically, and they were both silent as a drop of the purple medicine dripped from her chin onto the floor, splattering loudly. James had in the insane urge to start giggling, but doubted he could even if he tried.

"Mr Potter," said Madame Pomfrey in exasperation, "you really have to drink all of this or your head will never clear up."

Oh. Right. His head. It was still throbbing and pulsing and about to explode.

Strange how he had forgotten about it during Lily's touch.

"Here," said Lily, coming closer again (brave, thought James, since she was most likely going to get splattered again).

Her fingers were at the back of his head again, the vial was pressed to his lips, and the purple liquid was slowly trickling into his mouth; it became more disgusting with each second, until James' eyes were watering with the effort not to spit it everywhere.

Finally it was over and Lily stepped back, her hand leaving his rapidly clearing head; James couldn't decide if he was pleased or disappointed. Madame Pomfrey handed Lily another vial, just like the one he had dropped (he hadn't even noticed her get another one out), and then Lily's hand was back on his head. This time, he swore he felt her rub her thumb softly against his hair, and it felt so nice he wanted to sigh. He was probably just imagining it.

"This one should help with the chest pain," explained Madame Pomfrey abruptly as Lily poured the liquid into his mouth.

This one was tasteless, but the texture was horrible and it was thick and sticky going down his throat. Why was it impossible to create potions or medicine that tasted even slightly decent?

After two more vials of potions (one for his aching muscles, and another one that James had no idea what it was for but Madam Pomfrey insisted was important), they were finished, and Lily had sat back in her seat while the nurse bustled around, making notes. James lay back against his lumpy pillow, exhausted but unable to sleep.

"What happened?" he asked after a few moments of silence. It had been the first and foremost question on his mind (right after 'what was Lily doing here?' but he couldn't very well ask that one without appearing rude).

Lily blinked and turned to frown at Madam Pomfrey. "You don't remember?" said the nurse, in a strange voice.

James tried to think, but all he could concentrate on was how awful Lily looked at the moment. "No," he said eventually, unsure of how he got here or why he had been in pain.

Lily pursed her lips and even Madam Pomfrey stilled and turned to look at him. "You were attacked," the nurse explained bluntly, "by Evan Rosier at the Hogsmeade train station. He hit you with a terribly nasty curse."

And suddenly James remembered. He'd been late for the train back to King's Cross, and when he got there Rosier had been in a foul mood too. James had asked about the train being gone, and next thing he knew they were in a full-blown argument, about to start dueling when Rosier had attacked him. James remembered flashing purple light, a sharp, intense pain not unlike the ones he had experienced earlier, and then he had blacked out.

Lily had been watching his face carefully during these thoughts, her eyes still wide and worried; she reminded James oddly of a terrified bush-baby. "Do you remember now?" she asked quietly.

James nodded once, shortly and unsmiling. He desperately needed to know what had happened to Rosier, but didn't dare ask in case he got the answer he didn't want.

"Rosier was expelled immediately," said Lily softly, apparently having read his mind. James turned his head to look at her, his eyes taking in every inch of her devastating image.

Good.

James nodded once more without speaking. What was there to say? The nurse left the Hospital Wing, presumably to tell Dumbledore he had awoken, and Lily turned her gaze to her hands, sitting back in the chair by his bed. James took the opportunity to study her, taking in the dark circles around her eyes, her colorless lips and limp hair and wondered what had happened to her.

He didn't dare ask.

"How long have I been here?" he said instead, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

"Five days," she replied immediately, without looking up from burning a hole in her hands.

He nodded again. "Do - Do my parents...?"

"Dumbledore sent them an urgent owl, but it hasn't returned yet." She looked up at him, finally, and, while James wanted to, he refused to tear his gaze away from hers. "I don't mean to worry you, or anything," she added quickly.

James shook his head quickly to reassure her and tried clearing his throat. "They're on a holiday cruise. They're not supposed to have any contact with anyone from back home."

What James didn't add was that they were doing it at the request of their relationship counselor, who had suggested they take time away from the rest of the world so they could get to know each other again after all they had been through. And the rest of the world included James, of course, even though he was their son.

They fell into an awkward silence. Lily, still pale and haggard-looking, stared anywhere but at him while James tried to piece everything together in his mind. He could remember pain, lots of pain, the fury and _hate_ in Rosier's face, his own anger bubbling to the surface... It scared him that someone so young could inflict such harm against another person.

"How did I get here?" he asked, frowning again at Lily.

"Someone from the village saw what happened, and intervened," said Lily quietly, her gaze flickering between him and her hands, as if she was still nervous. "They called for Dumbledore, who brought you back here. He expelled Rosier the next day. No one's heard from him since."

James hesitated, but he just had to know. It was driving him insane. "And... you?" he asked, slowly capturing her gaze.

Lily sucked on the inside of her cheek, her chin lowered even as she looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"What are you doing here?"

Lily flushed, and looked unsure of how to respond. James frowned again at her uncharacteristic behavior. "Helping Poppy," she said quickly.

Ah. Of course. James was surprised by the wash of disappointment that settled over him; what else had he been expecting? He'd known that Lily was an exceptionally talented student, especially in Potions, and even had a vague memory of finding out that she was being specially trained by the new nurse in Healing, a course that Hogwarts didn't normally even offer. She always had been special, and not just to him. Of course she was here for Madam Pomfrey.

"What do you do?" he asked, and when she looked confused he clarified, "To help her?"

She hesitated, but at least now she was looking at him, not her hands. Success, thought James, though he was still wondering about her abnormal behavior.

"I'm... kind of like an intern, I guess," she said slowly. "Sort of... practicing while still learning." James nodded, and she hastened to add, "I... kind of need you to keep quiet about this, though. Hogwarts doesn't normally do this kind of thing, and I know I'm really lucky, and if I made a big deal out of it people would talk about unfair treatment and double standards and..."

She trailed off suddenly, and ducked her head to look down at her hands. She looked as if she wanted to hide behind her hair but, unfortunately for her, it was tied up. James just blinked at her, unnerved by her babbling. Lily had always been an outgoing, stubborn person not afraid to make her opinions known but, ever since... _that night_, she had been a very quiet, almost reserved girl, and she hadn't said more than a couple of words to James in over a year. What was going on?

She was still refusing to look at him, so James took his time in studying her, noting how terrible she looked. Her eyes were the worst. Bloodshot and red-rimmed, the green of her irises should have popped out in contrast, but instead even they seemed lifeless and worn away. She looked so _tired_.

"Not lucky," he finally said, and he hardly recognized his voice. Her eyes flashed to his and he suddenly realized his comment had seemingly come out of nowhere; they had been sitting in silence for at least five minutes. "Talented. You deserve the special treatment."

She sucked both of her lips into her mouth, and when she released them James was fixed on the blood filling them, turning them a rosy color. It didn't last long; the pink soon faded back into pale, colorless tone they had been before. He looked up to find Lily watched him, and was astounded by the pink hue of her cheeks. Was she blushing? He knew redheads had a tendency to blush often, but Lily usually only blushed when she was angry. Had he somehow managed to make her angry again?

"Um," she said quietly, and her eyes nervously flitted to her hands before meeting his again. "Thank you."

He followed her gaze to her hands, studying them. They were small, equally as pale as her face, with one or two freckles dotted here and there. Her fingers were thin, almost child-like, and her fingernails were chewed almost to the extreme. He hadn't know she bit her nails.

Why was she being so civil towards him?

"Ah, Mr. Potter," said a voice, and James raised his eyes to see Professor Dumbledore entering the Hospital Wing. He was smiling, but his eyes were serious. "Glad to see you've awoken."

"Thank you, sir," he replied as Professor Dumbledore sat in the other free chair, next to Lily, who was watching him.

Professor Dumbledore, as if feeling her gaze, turned to smile at her and said gently, "Would you mind giving us a moment alone please, Miss Evans?"

James watched as Lily's eyebrows furrowed, then her face went curiously blank. He was uncertain as to the reason of her reluctance to leave, but went along with it (he really was quite pathetic in his willingness to make her happy, he thought to himself).

As she was standing up without a protest, he suddenly blurted out, "It's okay, she can stay." Both of them turned to look at him, and he looked back and forth between them, taking in their equally surprised expressions. "I mean... if that's alright with you, sir."

The surprise fell off of Lily's face, and it became impossible to read. Professor Dumbledore, however, almost seemed to have a twinkle in his eyes that made James very uneasy. Uneasy was much better than in incredible pain, however, so he voiced no complaints.

"Of course, of course," said Professor Dumbledore, gesturing for Lily to sit back down again. "Sit, please, Miss Evans."

She did so, hesitantly, watching James with that still curiously unreadable face. Professor Dumbledore went straight to business, almost seeming to ignore Lily.

"I assume you've been caught up with recent events, including Rosier's position in - or should I say out? - of Hogwarts, and our inability to contact your parents."

"Yes," nodded James.

"Good. Now, Madam Pomfrey and Miss Evans have been watching over you for five days, spending a colossal amount of time on your case..."

His voice seemed to become almost muted as James looked at Lily. She was studiously ignoring his gaze, focused on Professor Dumbledore's face as he spoke. Had she really spent all that time here? Just for him?

Of course. Intern. Healer training. It must have been a fascinating case for her.

Why was he again surprised at the disappointment?

"...the curse that you were hit with was..."

The Professor's voice came back into focus for a second, and James turned to look at him. He looked very serious, unsmiling, with his blue eyes hidden behind half-moon spectacles that glinted in the light whenever he moved. However, James was distracted by the long white hair and beard, which made his appearance almost comical. His hair looked very soft, thought James vaguely, and... he peered closer, frowning. Was that a strand of _red_ hair? Had Professor Dumbledore been ginger?

"...Mr. Potter? James?"

James snapped back to focus, and would have shaken his head if he wasn't worried the pain would return. Jeez, his thoughts were scattered everywhere, totally out of focus. Maybe the potions were making him go loopy. He needed to concentrate.

"Sorry," he said, and vaguely noticed Lily's lips had flattened into a thin line again. "What were you saying, sir?"

"I was inquiring about your parents. Do you have any way of contacting them? I feel they should know about this, even if you don't want them to."

_Busted_, thought James. He hadn't wanted to worry them; he'd been planning on just getting through the Christmas Holidays and returning to school, and only maybe mentioning it in passing after he graduated.

"No. They're not really supposed to be keeping on contact with anyone. They're on the Marblesweet Cruise," he explained slowly. He was felt almost embarrassed admitting this in front of Lily, but was comforted by the knowledge that she didn't know why they were on the cruise. "Although I guess if I managed to reach the company and told them about it, they'd let my parents know."

"Not to worry, I'll take care of that" replied Professor Dumbledore, smiling. The look on his face told James that Professor Dumbledore knew what the cruise really was; James' automatic embarrassment at revealing family secrets only disappeared when he saw the lack of pity in the professor's eyes.

James nodded, and turned to look at Lily, who had been quiet ever since Professor Dumbledore had entered the room. Her hands were clasped in her lap, her fingers clenching and unclenching, and she was staring at James as if she couldn't believe he was there. Or couldn't believe he was awake.

James was suddenly struck by a thought, and turned back to look at the Professor.

"Sir, what about my friends?" he asked quietly. "I mean, do they... know?"

Professor Dumbledore sighed. "No. It is not school policy - or hospital policy, for that matter - to contact friends, only family. However... with Rosier being expelled - the first student to be expelled in twenty years - and the fact that your case was very rare, the Daily Prophet managed to find out about the incident, and I have no doubt they will be running a story about it sometime this week."

_The incident_. James thought it almost ironic that something so ugly, so awful, with such terrible consequences could be described with such a simple euphemism.

No. He needed to concentrate, not think about the meanings of random words.

"So..." he struggled to wrap his head around the words. "They don't know, but they will soon, because of the Daily Prophet?"

"Precisely. Unless you wish to contact them now?"

James hesitated, imagining their reactions in his mind. Poor Peter would have his family holiday in France ruined, Remus would blame himself for not waiting with James, and Sirius would be furious, probably enough to go after Rosier and attack him.

"No," he finally murmured, "I think I'll wait a bit."

Lily was silent, but her gaze was unwavering, burning into his. She let Professor Dumbledore talk.

"As you wish."

Something the professor had said earlier re-entered James' mind, and he frowned, struggling to remember it. What were all of these potions doing to his mind?

"You said... you said my case was very rare," he said slowly. "Why wasn't I taken to St. Mungo's?"

"Well, you were only in Hogsmeade," the professor pointed. "So it was much easier to just bring you to the school. A Healer from St. Mungo's did come to look at you. You could have been transferred but, fortunately, Madam Pomfrey has just recently been doing research on cases such as the one you have, and she has obtained a level of expertise that many in St. Mungo's have not. Coincidence, or fate?" he mused to himself.

James frowned, his thoughts swirling around in his head. It was like trying to catch a fish in water; no matter how fast he went, they slipped through his fingers. He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't think. And he was so, so tired.

Hadn't he just been sleeping for five days straight? Why the hell was he tired now?

"So... when can I go home?" he asked.

The response startled him; Madam Pomfrey suddenly spoke up loudly from a corner of the room (James was so out of it he hadn't even noticed she had been there throughout the entire conversation).

"Out of the question," she barked.

He blinked.

"But-"

"No. Absolutely not. I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but you are in no condition to be going anywhere. You need constant medical supervision. You may be a bright boy, but you do not know what you need right now, which potions to take, or what to do in case of a relapse, or an emergency. I forbid it."

James understood, but he was still incredibly frustrated. He knew he wasn't exactly in perfect condition at the moment (understatement of the year), but... well, it was _Christmas_. He wasn't going to spend Christmas in the Hospital Wing by himself. He had made plans. He was supposed to spend the next week with Sirius at Sirius' cousin's house, and his parents were supposed to be back by New Year's Eve, planning to drag him off to a Ministry Ball (actually, he wouldn't have minded missing that).

He didn't want to spend Christmas _here_.

"But... I made plans. I... It's not fair to be stuck here during the holidays by myself. I need to go home, sir," he said, turning to Professor Dumbledore as a last resort.

Professor Dumbledore was sympathetic, but was more in favor of saving James' life then giving James holiday cheer.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but I can't let you leave without suitable medical supervision. You could hire someone from St. Mungo's, but it would be very expensive, and probably not very enjoyable," continued Madam Pomfrey.

James wanted to scowl, but found he was too tired to even do that. Thoughts went flitting through his mind, glimpses of words and faces and voices flashing, but he could hardly even remember what they were arguing about.

"Fine," he muttered unhappily, closing his eyes.

"I-I'll do it," said a small voice suddenly, and James' eyes snapped open to stare at Lily.

She slunk back a little in her chair when everyone focused their attention on her, and looked down, her cheeks turning pink. When she looked up, however, her eyes were defiant, despite the tremble in her voice.

"I could go with him. I know enough about the case that I could take care of everything, a-and, I mean, I have no plans for the holidays... I wouldn't mind - he wouldn't have to pay me. I... It isn't fair for him to spend the holidays here..."

She trailed off, unnerved by the silence as the three of them stared at her. James' mouth was hung open, much like earlier, except this time he couldn't even think about closing it.

She... was willing to spend the holidays with him? With him, James Potter, who she hadn't spoken to in over a year (and hardly ever spoke to him even before that, except to yell at him)?

Why?

"I mean... if you want me to," she continued hesitantly.

There was silence for a long moment as they stared at her, and she fidgeted nervously under their gazes. James got the distinct feeling that she wished she could take her words back, but he was too distracted to think about it. She was making _no sense_ today, so unlike the girl she usually was, that she had thrown James totally out of balance (well, even _more_ out of balance; Rosier's attack had already done a lot).

"I-I suppose you could," said Madam Pomfrey slowly, uncertainly looking to Professor Dumbledore, who just raised his eyebrows as if to say, _why not?_

"Lily," said James softly, and she finally looked up at him, "you don't have to do that."

He was confused by the expression on her face. She lowered her head, hiding it, but he thought she looked almost... hurt? She swallowed, then looked up again, biting her lip.

"I... want to."

Again there was silence. With James' random, skittering thoughts, he was barely aware that there was anyone in the room apart from Lily and himself. They stared at each other, trying to wordlessly communicate. James thought that Lily looked almost scared - though of what, he couldn't imagine.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

He didn't want to discourage her - why on Earth wouldn't he want to spend time with Lily? - but he didn't want her to go out of her way for him, especially if she didn't want to. He couldn't understand how she could even _look_ at him after the way he had treated her that night, let alone want to help him.

But that was Lily, he supposed. Always taking care of the underdog, even if he didn't deserve it. An image of Snape's sallow face flashed in his mind, and James decided he really needed to get to sleep.

"I'm sure," she said, equally as quietly.

"Okay," he managed to get out, feeling so drowsy by now that his eyelids were fluttering closed.

"Okay, it's settled then," he heard Madam Pomfrey say, but he couldn't see her, could only see black, black, black, and he felt as if the world was slipping away, swirling by silently. "We'll continue the arrangements in the morning, and I suppose you can leave straight after that."

"I'll see you later, Poppy," James heard Professor Dumbledore say. "Miss Evans."

There was the sound of footsteps, muffled, then a door opening and closing.

"I'll see you later, Lily," said the nurse, and though her tone wasn't exactly nice, James thought it was nicer than it had been all evening.

More footsteps, another door, even quieter this time, and then the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. The noise was loud, but hardly enough to even stir James, who felt as if the world was getting further and further away.

"James," said a small voice to his side, as if coming from a great distance.

"Mmm?" was all he managed to get out, too far gone to even move his lips.

There was a pause, then he heard her breathing hitch. "I..." she trailed off, then seemed to change her mind about what she was going to say. "I'll see you in the morning."

James didn't bother replying, not sure if he was dreaming yet or not. There was a sudden warm, comforting pressure on his hand, but James couldn't figure out what it was, because the world was slipping away...


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long - I'm a terribly sporadic updater, I'll admit. Please review, though! **

**Chapter Two**

Lily wasn't exactly sure what she had been expecting, but it definitely wasn't _this_.

Her first shock of the day was upon arriving (via Floo Powder) at James' house. Her jaw hanging open, she looked around in silent awe, vaguely grateful that James wasn't there with her to witness this.

The house was simply _amazing_. More like a mansion, really, she was sure - and she had only seen... well, she supposed it was called a foyer. The floors were made of white marble, and there was a grand, sweeping marble staircase to her right, complete with gold railings. She wondered if they were made of actual gold. Paintings in embellished wooden frames lined the walls and, though she didn't recognize any (they were Wizarding, after all), she was pretty sure that they each cost more than her entire house. There was a polished, dark wooden table next to the staircase that she suspected came from at least a couple of centuries ago, complete with an ornate glass flower vase, filled with the most beautiful tulips she had ever seen. Everything was so _clean_, she marveled. Completely spotless, not a hint of dust.

_House Elves_, she thought.

As if on cue, one of them appeared, bowing so low that its floppy, ungainly ears touched the floor.

"May Marcy help you, miss?" the little elf asked, perfectly politely, and Lily realized that the Potters must be used to people popping over randomly.

"Er, I'm here to pick up some things for James?" she said hesitantly, and it came out as a question.

"Master James?" the elf - Marcy? - squeaked, her eyes bulging and her ears perking up; Lily was oddly reminded of a dog. "Miss knows where Master James is?"

Lily abruptly realized that no one had thought about telling the House Elves what had happened to James; they had obviously been expecting him. She wondered what he had been planning to do over the holidays, since neither of his parents were here and none of his friends had questioned his whereabouts.

"He was... in an accident," she reluctantly explained carefully, tentatively. How had it fallen to her to have to explain this? The elf squeaked again, and brought her hands up to cover her face; her large knobby fingers covered wide, horrified eyes. "He's okay, though," Lily quickly reassured. "He just... I came to pick up some stuff for him."

"Where is he?" Marcy asked mournfully, and Lily couldn't help taking pity on her.

"He's at Hogwarts. But he's going to be staying at his... cottage for a while, until the holidays are over. Do you... do you think you could show me where his room is?"

Marcy looked at her with wide eyes, assessing her, and Lily felt relieved, for some reason, to know that not just _anyone_ was welcome into the house. She wondered how that worked - could anyone Floo there, or was there some kind of magical ward to keep certain people out? Did the House Elves decide who could enter? How did Wizards keep bad people - like burglars - out of their houses?

"This way, Miss," said the elf eventually, its voice high. "Follow Marcy."

Lily followed her up the marble staircase, marveling at its grandeur, through a long corridor (how many rooms did this place _have?_), and, finally, came to a stop outside a white door. The carpet under her feet was plush, and there were decorations on the white walls, but she was oddly reminded of being in a hotel; there was nothing _personal_ about the house. No photographs, nothing lying scattered around... no sense that somebody _lived_ here.

"In here, Miss."

Marcy pushed open a polished wooden door, and held it ajar so that Lily could enter the room. She felt a sense of unease as she crossed the threshold, as if she was entering James' personal, private space; she felt as if she shouldn't be here, like she was unwelcome. _Stop being ridiculous,_ she told herself. James had _allowed_ her to come here; he was expecting her to enter his room. How else was she supposed to get his belongings?

"Thanks," she said to Marcy, and the elf practically beamed at her.

Immediately upon entering, she felt much better. The room was very welcoming compared to the corridor just outside, and it looked like a teenage boy's room _should_ look: it had lopsided Quidditch posters half-falling off the wall; a wooden desk piled high with random, unidentifiable objects; a stained carpet (she didn't want to now what it was, if even magic couldn't take it out); and dark blue bedcovers. The room even _smelt_ like James, if that was possible.

She turned slowly around on the spot, taking in every inch of the room. One of her arms was hanging down by her side; the hand of her other arm was gripping her elbow tightly, creating a shield across her stomach. She didn't realize she was smiling slightly until one of the Quidditch players on a poster winked at her, and her smile disappeared.

Marcy cleared her throat pointedly, and Lily forced her curious, wandering eyes to focus on the elf.

"Is there something in particular Miss wanted?"

"Er..." She looked around again. "Are his Christmas presents here?"

"Oh! In the cupboard, Miss."

The little elf scurried over to a wooden cupboard and opened it, leaving Lily to marvel at just how _messy_ it was. Rumpled clothes were piled on top of each other, random socks hanging on random shelves, and what even looked like schoolbooks were littering the bottom. On the right, stacked in a little corner, lay a pile of wrapped presents, one on top of the other. Their packaging was shiny and bright, like Christmas presents should be and, even though Lily knew they weren't for her, she felt the urge to tear off the shiny paper and open them.

"Thanks," she said, and Marcy beamed again.

"You's welcome, Miss. Is there anything else Miss is wanting?"

"Er..." Lily turned around slowly, but nothing came to mind. "No, I think that's it."

James had most of his things at Hogwarts already; all that he had needed her to get was the presents he was planning to owl to everybody. In fact, why had his presents been here in the first place? She wondered idly about it, but figured it wasn't really important.

Marcy gestured for Lily to exit the room, which she did reluctantly. She couldn't say why she didn't want to leave - it just felt nice, being in his room, like she was a part of his personal life. His room was comforting, almost like him - but she figured returning to the real thing was better than staying in his room.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as she stepped out. "I forgot - I'm supposed to leave a message for his parents. Professor Dumbledore was unable to reach them by owl?"

She looked quizzically at Marcy, but the elf had lowered her gaze to the floor with her ears bowed. Lily was insanely curious about where James' parents were, but she didn't feel she had the right to pry - not after how she had treated him. It wasn't really any of her business, no matter how much she wanted it to be.

"What is Miss wanting Marcy to tell them?"

The smile on Marcy's face had disappeared, and Lily felt absurdly guilty for making the elf sad. Another burst of curiosity flared up, but she quashed it determinedly. What had happened to his parents?

"Can you tell them that James has been in an accident and is staying at his cottage? They can owl Professor Dumbledore if they have any questions, he said. Do you think you can do that for me?"

Marcy looked almost indignant, but at the same time she had a smile on her face; Lily's eyebrows rose in amusement at the elf's peculiar expression.

"Of course, Miss, I's will make sure they hear it."

"Thank you, Marcy," said Lily, bending down to smile at her; Marcy's smile returned even larger than before. "And thank you for showing me to James' room."

"Is no problem, Miss! Marcy is happy to help."

Marcy was smiling dopily now, and Lily almost wanted to laugh. Instead, she turned around for the Floo Powder, poured a handful into the fireplace, and was swirled away, back to Hogwarts.

Her second surprise of the day came when she arrived with James at his cottage. She had been steeling herself for hours, prepared to see the extravagance of what the Potters called a 'cottage', so when she arrived and found herself faced with an _actual_ cottage, she was floored.

It filled every single cliche of what a cottage was supposed to look like. It was small, made of rich wood, dark in the receding light of day, and very, very cozy. When she looked out the windows she could see nothing but trees and snow and sky; it was like she had entered another world completely. The furniture was threadbare and mismatched, but she immediately fell in love with it anyway. There was a dark orange couch, a green one with a floral print, and in between them was a slanted wooden coffee table. There were three doors - she assumed one was a kitchen, one a bathroom, and one a bedroom. It was just so _different_ to his other mansion that she could barely comprehend it.

Lily stepped out of the fire and watched with fascination as the room was bathed in an orange glow, the change from the eerie green of Floo Powder so startling that she had to blink a few times. When she refocused, she saw James watching her apprehensively, as if he was nervous, and she found she was nervous as well.

Now what?

"So... this is it," said James uncertainly.

He made a sweeping gesture with his arm, then immediately clutched his chest and doubled over, gasping in pain. Lily shot to his side instantly, her heart racing, and grabbed hold of his shoulder, forcing him to sit down on the sofa.

"Bollocks - here, sit down," she cursed, unable to stop fretting.

"I'm alright," James insisted weakly, still pressing forcefully against his heart. He looked startled by her language. "Sorry."

Lily felt like her heart was bleeding. "Don't apologize," she said quietly, pushing James by the shoulder so that he leaned back against the couch.

He nodded once but didn't reply, looking up at the ceiling as if he was ashamed to meet her gaze. Lily bit her lip, then swallowed hard. Was this what she had reduced him to? He couldn't even look at her. _He must hate me_, she thought despondently. _What am I doing here? He doesn't want me here._ _No. He needs me here. What would he prefer - being stuck in the Hospital Wing, or being stuck here with me?_

_Shut _up_, Lily. Just focus on making him better._

"How are you feeling?" She made sure her voice was gentle. "Are you light-headed? Dizzy? Nauseated?"

"I'm fine," he replied, looking at a spot just over her shoulder.

Lily pursed her lips. "James... you have to tell me the truth. Really."

He paused, and Lily was sure she saw him sigh. His hand finally came down from his heart to rest at his side, and Lily chewed on the inside of her lip. She placed her hands on the armrests of the sofa, and leaned forwards towards him, forcing him to finally meet her gaze. Her heart started thumping, but she ignored it.

"James," she pressed.

"I'm a little light-headed," he admitted quietly, staring at her.

She held his gaze for a second longer, trying and failing to read his emotions, then stood up and started rifling through her bag.

"It's fine," James called out to her. "You don't need to -"

"Shh," she interrupted him without looking back. "I'm here as your Mediwitch, it's what I'm _supposed_ to do. Don't worry about it."

When she looked back his face had darkened, and she wondered if she had said anything to upset him. Perhaps his chest was just hurting more? She frowned and came forwards again, this time with a vial of purple liquid in her hands.

"Take this," she said gently, passing it to him. She waited until his fingers were firmly closed around the vial before she let go of it.

"I'm fine," he said quietly.

"You have to take it," she insisted. "You're going to need to take this potion twice a day for the next two weeks, at least. I'm going to have to apply a healing cream to your wound every two days, and you're not supposed to be doing any activity for about a week."

James opened his mouth to argue, but Lily had seen this coming and she cut him off.

"I'm serious. You can be in bed or on the couch, but that's about all you can do for a while, okay?"

Lily bustled around the room as she talked, taking his trunk to the bedroom and putting hers in the corner by the fireplace. She grabbed a blanket from a cupboard, draped it over the larger orange couch, then went back for a pillow. Through it all, James watched her with unfathomable dark eyes that made her incredibly nervous, and a very somber expression.

She saw his glower when she got to the end of her speech, and sighed before coming to stand by him again.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. James looked up at her silently; she wanted to take his hand but didn't dare to. "I know this isn't what you want to hear, but it really is the only way you're going to heal. Just put up with me for a little while, okay?"

A fleeting expression passed through his eyes, but it was gone too fast for her to even try to comprehend it.

"Alright," he agreed softly.

Lily was surprised. She had read all about how patients didn't cope well with inabilities, and she had been expecting him to get angry - at himself, at her, at the world... But he had been very calm so far, very accepting. She wasn't sure if that was good or not. James was naturally a very expressive person, or so she had thought - why was he suddenly so quiet?

"Alright," she repeated, as if to reassure herself.

A thick, uncomfortable silence descended upon them.

... Now what was she supposed to do?

"I - I suppose now is as good a time as any to put the cream on, isn't it?" she stuttered nervously, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears.

James was watching her silently again, which made her even more nervous. He was just... _watching_. It made her feel that, at any second, she would screw up royally, and humiliate herself. Was he _trying_ to intimidate her? Did it just come naturally? Did he even notice how nervous he made her?

He hadn't moved, so Lily screwed up her courage, pushed her apprehension aside, and reached for him.

"You're going to need to take off your shirt," she muttered, fighting an all-encompassing blush and coming out the loser. She was sure her face was tomato-red, and the color was fading all the way down her neck...

James appeared startled. "Oh!" he exclaimed, and she watched with confusion as he looked away, seeming almost embarrassed.

Was he ashamed about his scar? She knew most patients didn't deal well with ugly reminders; they took it as a direct blow to their vanity. Most of them were repulsed by their scars, and never wanted anyone else to see them.

"James," she said softly, "you don't have to be embarrassed about it. Your scar isn't a reflection of you - it doesn't change anything about you. I've been helping Poppy; I'm sure I've seen things much worse than that."

He swallowed, but still wouldn't look at her. "Oh, it's not - I mean... I'm fine." He sighed almost resignedly, and again she reached for his shirt, but he stopped her. "You don't have to - I can do it myself -"

"James, you can barely even lift your arms. Don't even think about it."

"..."

Her fingers fumbled against the hem of his shirt; she grasped the cotton and gently but firmly pulled it upwards. She looked up and found he was watching her now, his eyes very, very dark and intense behind his glasses, and she nearly forgot to breathe. She actually froze, her hands hovering above his breastbone, and she saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. A spell seemed to settle over the two of them like a layer of pixie dust, until James tore his gaze away. She let out a shaky breath, pretending nothing had happened, and proceeded to pull his shirt up even higher.

"You're going to have to raise your arms," she whispered, appalled at the way her voice cracked.

He did so, slowly, wincing terribly, and Lily tried not to let her concern take over her practical mind. His ribs would hurt for a while still, and there was nothing she could do about it; nature had to take its own course. As soon as his arms were raised above his head, she slowly pulled his t-shirt up even further, past his shoulders, over his head, and finally all the way off. She paced it on the arm of the couch and automatically reached forward to straighten his glasses, not even thinking about it until she saw the strange look in his eyes. She froze, then pulled her fingers back as if they burnt.

"I'm - I'm going to get the cream," she stuttered, backing away until she got to her trunk.

She turned around, facing away from him, and dropped to her knees. She pretended to rifle through her belongings, but really she was trying to get a check on her emotions. She _couldn't_ fall apart around him like this. It was ridiculous - nothing was even going on. Everything had a purely _medical_ purpose. Why was she so flustered?

She found the tube of healing cream she had ben looking for, sighed deeply, then steeled her resolve and walked over to him again. She was going to be purely professional and clinical; there was no need to be embarrassed. Everything was fine.

"Just try to relax, okay?"

He nodded, and she tried not stare as the muscles in his chest moved as he breathed deeply. He wasn't very bulky at all - he had a tall, lithe, almost lanky build, but underneath his shirt he was deceptively strong, with very lean muscles. _Medical, medical,_ Lily chanted to herself as she tried not to ogle.

She took the cap off of the tube, squeezed a bit of paste onto her fingers, and leant forwards to place them on the skin above his heart. It was an awkward, uncomfortable position; the height of the chair he was in meant she couldn't stand up straight, but couldn't kneel, so she was awkwardly standing in between his legs, leaning forwards towards him, and trying not to stare.

He jumped when her fingers made contact with his skin, and she watched with fascination as his muscles clenched automatically.

"Sorry, it's a little cold," she said quietly, almost afraid to speak louder and break the spell.

"Mm," was all he replied with, noncommittally.

She used two fingers to rub the cream onto his scar, applying gentle pressure to spread it around and even it out. The scar itself was about the size of her fist, an angry purple that screamed evil, and very veiny, like a ball of fire with tendrils of flames flicking out. It was ugly, for sure, but Lily didn't feel repulsed by it - she just felt an overwhelming urge to reassure James that the scar wasn't _him_, that it didn't change how she saw him. The scar was ugly; he was beautiful.

She tried not to think about how much she wanted to wrap her arms around him and have him hold her close. She tried not to think about how comfortable his chest looked, as if she was supposed to fit right into it perfectly. She tried not to think about the last time she had seen him like this; half-naked and staring at her with a fierce intensity that made her throat dry.

She breathed in shakily as she pulled away, and watched as he blinked and cleared his throat nervously.

"You okay?" she whispered.

"'M fine," he murmured.

She saw his fingers twitch, as if he was itching to clench his hands, and she wiped her own discreetly against her jeans, getting rid of the excess cream. She put the tube back in her trunk, then stood awkwardly by him again. He continued to watch her silently, as if waiting for her to make the next move. The problem was: she didn't know what the next move should be.

"I'm going to - make dinner," she fumbled, and headed without a backwards glance towards where she assumed the kitchen was.

The kitchen was tiny, about the size of her bedroom at home, but very cozy. A very warm light bathed the room; the chairs were made of soft wood and the round table had a well-worn table cloth placed above it, upon which rested a beautiful but chipped vase with blooming tulips. Ever-Fresh Flowers, she realized; they would never die. When she looked, she found the cabinets were filled with an assortment of random kitchen utensils, including mismatched cutlery and a tea-mug that had a rounded Quidditch broom as its handle, which made her smile to herself. She made a simple meal of pasta with tomato sauce and bread, but when she took it back to the living room she stopped in her tracks.

James was asleep, passed out on the sofa, with his head lolling back and his glasses askew. His mouth was just slightly open, and he looked like such a little boy that Lily almost wanted to laugh. She couldn't stop staring at him, frozen in her spot by the door. With those dark eyes, long lashes, hair curling rakishly over his ears, it was no wonder there were dozens of girls fawning over him. He was simply adorable.

Her fingers itched to to smooth his hair down and trace his temple, but she held in her desire. He didn't _want_ her to be overly affectionate with him. How could, after how she had treated him last year? She wasn't his girlfriend and he didn't want her to be; she had to remember that.

She sat on the couch opposite him with a plate of food in her lap. She debated waking him to eat, but figured she could just heat up the food once he woke up; he needed rest more than a meal. She crossed her legs beneath her and ate slowly, absent-mindedly, staring at the fire with her thoughts a million miles away. She glanced at James periodically - _just to make sure he's alright_, she told herself - and the image of him, bare-chested and bathed in a warm glow from the fire, stirred memories. They rose up, swirling wildly around her, until she felt she might drown in them.

Even over a year later, she remembered that fateful night so well - that night which changed everything. She remembered how it felt, after climbing through the portrait hole, to walk across the crowded Common Room, right up to James Potter, who had smiled and said her name aloud. And the way the butterbeer he'd given her had tasted as she took her first sip, light and fizzy on her tongue. Then later, after he had guided her up to his dorm room, how it had felt to kiss him, his lips warm against hers, searing life back into her as she sank down into the encompassing covers on his bed. Or hearing Marlene laughing in the distance, her voice carrying distantly, faintly, up the stairs, as if Lily and James were removed from the rest of the world.

All of these things registered, but there was one image, one moment, that rose above them all, etched vividly into her mind. That was before, earlier that fateful day, when she had glanced at the stiff, slanted script on the formal scroll, taking in its meaning, and had had a sudden vision of what she must look like at that moment: a small, pale girl with red hair, bloodless fingers clenched tightly around an official seal, who could hear everyone's voices but not see them through her tears.

She had thought that maybe, just maybe, that long twenty-four hours - starting with her opening the dreaded letter and ending with her waking up, naked, in James Potter's bed - would have just ended up being a nightmare, that she'd start the next day normally, without a proper care in the world. Instead, she woke up disoriented and confused. One look at the naked boy sleeping next to her had opened the floodgates; a tidal wave of memories crashed through her, and she felt sick. Sick about what had happened - and sick about what she had _done_. She should have just walked away the night before, she knew. From the Firewhisky, from James, from all of it. But she hadn't walked away, and that had shamed her for months to come.

They hadn't talked since then. She had stolen away quietly before he awoke, creeping like the dim shadows that lined the staircase up to her dorm in the pale, dawning light. She never sought him out again; he seemed to avoid her as if she was worse than the plague. She hated it, but at the same time she couldn't bring herself to change it - she didn't think she would be able to, or she was too scared to try.

Sometimes, when she had seen him, all she had wanted to do was go up to him and tell him everything, explain her grief and shame and heartache. The thought would crash over her like a wave, sudden and unexpected, leaving her cold because in the next moment she would already be convincing herself that he probably didn't want to hear it anymore; it was too late for excuses. Watching him walk though the corridors, laughing with his friends, it had been like he was receding back to the person he had always been: a boy she barely knew, just another face in the crowd. She hadn't had the guts to take the first step in attempting to rebuild a relationship; she didn't think it would have worked.

Looking back, now, she thought that maybe if she had just _approached_ James, they could have worked things out. But she hadn't, back then. It was like the passing time, and her guilt and her grief and her shame, had opened up a chasm, growing wider and wider. Once, she might have been able to jump it, but eventually it was too distant to even look across, much less find a way to other side.

Until now.

But no, she didn't want to think about that - didn't want to think about what had made her change her mind. Instead, she simply watched him as he slept, her eyes roving over every inch of him, until she felt she had him completely memorized. Her gaze lingered on his lips and, unbidden, another image flittered into her mind, overpowering all of her other memories. She remembered how they had felt, remembered how he had kissed, remembered just how he had made her feel, but most of all she remembered...

..._ while the rest of the world went on unaware downstairs, she leant forward and kissed James, making a choice that would change everything. Somewhere there was a ripple, some small shift in the universe that would change the course of their destiny - but she didn't feel it then. She only felt James, kissing her back, and her overwhelming need to _forget_ - to forget what she had just read in the letter. She felt the world go on around her, just as it always had, and she let herself get swept away._

She was brought back the present when James groaned lightly, shifting and opened his eyes. Startled, she sat up a little straighter. It was pitch black outside, and the room itself seemed a little darker too; she realized the fire was dying. She wondered how long she had been sitting there, lost in memories.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, for lack of anything better to say.

He didn't answer for a moment, still half-asleep. She watched as his gaze travelled from her, to the fire, back to her, and down to her empty plate.

"Hungry," he admitted sheepishly, attempting, with difficulty, to sit up straight.

"Here, let me heat this up for you."

"No, you don't have to -"

Lily firmly ignored him, standing up despite the protest from her stiff, sleeping legs, and heated up his meal. She passed him the plate and a fork, but decided he would be entirely too offended if she attempted to spoon-feed him.

He ate while she escaped to the kitchen to silently clean her own empty plate. She felt inexplicably nervous again, now that he was awake. She was unsure of the role she was meant to be playing - she knew he needed a nurse, and he had agreed to spend the holidays here with her instead of at the Hospital Wing with Madam Pomfrey, but she was unsure if he really wanted her company. She didn't want to impose on him if he hated her. Should she be staying away as much as possible and giving him his privacy? She didn't want to, but she couldn't stand the thought that he was only putting up with her through necessity...

_Enough_, she told herself firmly. _Stop rambling in circles and do what you are supposed to do - take care of him._

"You should go to sleep," she told him upon reentering the room, wiping her damp hands against her jeans.

He blinked, turning his head from the fire to look in her direction. His half-empty plate lay discarded on his lap.

"I've just _been_ sleeping," he mumbled drowsily.

He yawned, then, belying his earlier words, and Lily smiled, feeling some of the tension between them lift.

"No, you're not tired at all," she teased gently, walking forwards and taking the plate from his lap.

He smiled ruefully, but admitted he was a little tired. Lily deposited the plate on the coffee table, then turned back to find him watching her again, his eyes half-closed.

"Here," she said, "let's get you to bed."

She leant forwards to take his wrist, intending to help pull him up slowly from the armchair. He protested a little bit, at first, but eventually gave in, admitted defeat. She slid her hand from his wrist up to his elbow once he was standing, and helped to gently propel him towards the bedroom. He followed dazedly, yawning periodically until he reached the bed, where she sat him down on the edge. He seemed to wake, then, looking around at the dark, shrouded bedroom, then at the bed itself.

"Wait," he started, "where are you going to sleep?"

He was frowning in deep thought, and Lily simply blinked at him.

"On the couch."

He response was simple and matter-of-fact, but she watched as he struggled to understand it through his sleep-induced fog.

"No, don't - take the bed," he insisted, already trying to stand up without injuring himself further. "I can sleep on the -"

Lily actually scoffed at him, pressing down on his shoulder until he sat still, looking up at her in the dark. "Don't be ridiculous, James. You're injured, I'm perfectly fine - you're sleeping on the bed."

"But -"

"No, seriously," she interrupted with raised eyebrows, daring him to contradict her. "Don't even think about it. It makes sense - you're injured, you _need_ the bed. Alright? I don't want to hear another word about it."

He glowered up at her. It took her a moment to realize her hand was still on his shoulder, before she abruptly pulled it back. They faced each other off in the darkness, both refusing to back down and let the other take the couch. Lily was surprised that James was so intent about this; she understood his reluctance to have him help her with mundane actions such as dressing, which implied he was crippled, but she hadn't expected him to be so _chivalrous_ in making her sleep on the bed. Clearly, she had misjudged James Potter. She wasn't sure who she had thought he was, but it definitely wasn't this boy - man? - sitting in front of her, glaring at her as she refused to let him do her a favor.

"Lily..." he started lowly. She made a move to interrupt him again, but he didn't let her. "No, listen. You already gave up your holidays to look after me - at least let me do this."

"James, you need it." She was practically begging now.

"You deserve it," he retorted. "You're practically a saint - you have been for the last couple of _years_. Just be selfish for once in your perfect life and take the bed, _please_."

A saint? Perfect? What botched view did he have of her? She wanted to tell him, right then, that it wasn't true - any of it. She wasn't a saint; she was far from a perfect girl with a perfect life. No one's life was really perfect, on glorious moment after another, even hers - especially hers. A real set of snapshots of her sixth year would have been something else entirely: Petunia's thin, lipstick-coated mouth forming an ugly word; the discomfort warring against pity on anonymous student's faces; her, alone, at midnight, in the toilets, retching acid after a bout of silent hysterics.

She lowered her voice a little, watching as James' lips pursed in defeat. "You don't know what you're talking about. And you're sleeping on the bed - end of story. Okay?"

He looked like he wanted to argue, but then he simply nodded his head and scooted backwards, slowly sliding his legs under the covers.

"_Thank_ you," sighed Lily, and she felt warmth enter her chest as she saw James' reluctant smile.

He lay back against the pillows, and saw him wincing slightly; though she wanted to go to him, she refrained from doing so. She didn't want to seem overly anxious or overbearing.

She took a step backwards, past the door, and leaned against the doorframe, watching him for a moment. He stared back at her, his eyes glinting in the dark behind his glasses. Lily found she couldn't move, yet at the same time felt that she might fall; she clutched onto the doorframe in an attempt to stabilize herself. The window showed the outside world as pitch black, with the occasional flutter of a swirling white snowflake. All was silent, and time seemed suspended, as if the entire universe had simply frozen. Watching him look back at her, his gaze slowly slipping out of consciousness and yet so intense, she felt as if they were the only ones awake or even alive in the entire world at this moment.

"I'll see you in the morning," she whispered, breaking the spell.

She could almost _hear_ the _whoosh_ as time flew by again; outside, the wind howled and blew against the glass, and the light behind her seemed to come alive, brightening.

"G'night," murmured James, already partly asleep.

Lily stared at him for another long second, just until his eyes closed and the tension in his shoulders disappeared, then she backed out, closing the door behind her, and returned to the real world.


End file.
